


Last Stand

by Bloke_with_a_beard



Series: What happened to Nancy Blackett? [3]
Category: Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloke_with_a_beard/pseuds/Bloke_with_a_beard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mystery is solved at last, and now they know what really did happen to Nancy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Stand

 

Nancy's Last Stand

An epic tale of unsung heroism

by a survivor

(as retold by Dorothea McDonald)

She was in a mess. No other way to describe her.

A complete mess.

She'd been a good boat and served us well, but now she was in a mess. Shot up, holed, listing over, port gunwale awash, stern inches under, engine dead and no power for anything. The only good thing was that she'd not capsized – but with those filthy great engines down in her belly it would take a lot to make a boat like that roll over.

So there she was – about half a mile off the enemy coast. Some time in the early hours of a far too moonlit night. No radio. No back-up. And two Jerry patrol boats circling round her like a pair of alley-cats playing with a half-dead mouse, just waiting to see if there was any movement left before they closed in for the kill, wondering if they needed to fire again or if she'd sink on her own.

 

Well, she wasn't going to sink. She was better built than that. Good solid timber she was made of, and even with the stern shot away and the bilges awash, she still wasn't going to sink. Not her. She wasn't going to do anything to oblige the Germans.

　

I reckon I must have lost consciousness for a time because I couldn't really remember how we'd got into that awful mess like that, and as I lay there feeling groggy I realised from the awful pain in my leg that I must have been hit, especially as when I tried to move it wouldn't do what I wanted it to. There was one of the life-rafts just along the deck from me you see: it had burst out of its casing and already inflated, half floating and only held there by a rat-line tangled in the starboard rail. Of course I wanted to get myself into it, because it was plain that the boat would be going under at some time and I knew that would be my only hope of getting off her. But when I tried to move along the deck my left leg wouldn't go and my brain felt like mush, so I couldn't work out how to do it.

I was in a mess – just as big a bloody mess as the boat. I lay there in the deck, thrown against the cowling, wondering if this was my end or if I'd ever live to see another day.

I still had no memory of how we'd got into that mess, but even with my messed-up brain it didn't take much effort to work out what must have happened.

We'd been out on that testing trip: nice little comfortable jaunt to check everything was working properly before we were put on full operational status. The starboard Oerlikon was miss-firing so we'd trundled back to the base to see if one of the blokes there could fix it for us. They'd put one of the Ordinance Wrens on board – a girl trying to do a man's job I reckoned – but she'd only just started stripping the gun down when we'd had to move off as they wanted to get one of the big Yankee landing-craft onto the hard to start putting a six-pounder on her foredeck.

But this girl seemed to know her stuff, and the Captain must have met her before as they were soon getting on like a house in fire. She had the breech stripped down in no time and was adjusting one of the clearance settings before we'd hardly cleared the river, busy at it like an expert and giving the Captain cheek at the same time.

"What on earth have you been doing?" she asked as she heaved the breech back into place. "She's a lovely little gun, so how come you've managed to mess her up before you've even really used her? I don't know! Men!"

"I suppose you'd handle it better than we would then, would you?" Billy Tomkins said, "You'd be a better shot than any of us?"

"We-hey! Fighting talk!" old Dusty put in

"I'd probably hold my own," the girl said quietly, slotting the firing mechanism into place and checking the catches were all fully locked. "I need to check she's firing properly before I go ashore, so I'll have a go at that target first shall I?"

She tucked one arm through the firing-straps and pulled the gun around, pointing it towards the mangled remains of a bright orange target float that wallowed and bobbed low in the waves, a hundred yards away. "If I miss you can finish it off for me then? Is that alright?"

"You'll not hit that!" Billy said. "Not from here. No one could – not from a moving boat."

"Hold the speed steady!" the Captain called to me as I stood at the controls. "Circle that float as near as you can to this distance. Let's see what happens now then!"

He turned to the Ordnance Wren. "Best strap yourself in properly Nancy," he said. "Show us what you can do while you check your workmanship: then we'll know you can sign it off as fully functioning!"

　

Nancy settled the harness straps across her shoulders, checked through the sights, made sure no other boats were near, fired off two rounds to get her range – and then proceeded to knock great chunks out of the target. Billy stood there open-mouthed in disbelief as the broken parts slid below the surface, but when Nancy unclipped herself and turned to face us he was the first to congratulate her.

"Bloody brilliant!" he said. "Bloody brilliant! You shouldn't be stuck in a shore job my girl! You should be out here shooting Germans!"

"Not allowed to," Nancy replied. "Navy regs – Wrens aren't allowed on active service or in positions of danger."

"What a bloody waste then!" Billy said. "A bloody typical waste . . . "

I don't know what else he would have said to her as just then the radio went off with a squawk and we all went quiet as the Captain answered it. "Yes Sir," he said. "Right. Of course. Just one moment Sir?"

"They want us under way," he said to me. "Head south south west: full speed."

He turned back to the radio and started noting details down on the pad, as I pushed the throttles open and swung the wheel.

"What about me?" Nancy asked, but the Captain waved her to silence so she waited.

We were bucketing through the waves at the best part of forty knots when the Captain finished his conversation and consulted a chart. "Head two degrees further to starboard," he said. "Maintain speed, and from now on total radio silence. Something's gone wrong over there and we've got to go and create a distraction.

"It'll be full battle readiness as soon as the coast's in sight," he continued. "Man all the guns and get those depth-charges set to twenty feet."

"What do I do Sir?" Nancy asked as the initial bustle of activity died away.

"Well I can't put you ashore now can I?" the Captain said. "But I can't put you in a position of danger either. Technically I should order you to get yourself below-decks and keep out of it – but there's two guns up there with only one man between them, so if I turn my back who knows what you might not get up to."

"Very good Sir!" Nancy said. "I'll get myself below-decks as instructed."

She saluted, turned, and made straight for the Oerlikon she'd just repaired and tested,

"You'd best have this love," Billy said, handing her a tin-hat. "Won't do you much good if things get too nasty, but it might help."

"Thanks Billy," Nancy said, settling the steel helmet onto her dark curls. "And sorry if I embarrassed you earlier."

"Don't you worry about that my girl!" Billy said. "Sweetest bit of fancy shooting I've seen in years. You shoot them Jerry bastards as sweet as that and we'll all be saying thank you."

Nancy tightened the harness across her back once again and settled herself into the gun, swinging it experimentally to be sure she had the feel of it properly. Dusty was busily adjusting the firing devices on our four depth-charges and Billy was freeing off the ammunition drums in the lockers. The Captain showed me the target area on the charts and we discussed the best line of approach, while the big engines roared beneath us, sending the boat crashing through the waves, heading through the rapidly falling darkness for the unknown dangers of the enemy coast.

Exactly why we'd been sent there I never did know. I'm not sure that even the Captain did – and if he did know he certainly wasn't saying. Something had gone wrong over there. We were to go and make a distraction, probably to take the heat off someone more important than us. That was all I knew.

It didn't take too much guessing as to what it might have been though – any fool with one eye and half a brain could see that everything was building up toward the big push. We all knew there'd be an invasion sometime soon, when we'd be able to kick Jerry where it really hurt at last, and they probably wanted us to make them think we were looking in the wrong place. But exactly what had been happing over there this time, to get us sent off in such a dying hurry, I had no idea.

Boats slipped out and crept back at all kinds of odd hours from the bases near ours, and we'd all had it drummed into us that you never asked why, or where they'd been, or what they'd done.

Sometimes one of the boats didn't come back, and you never asked about that either – not even if one of your mates had been on her.

But if we were being sent somewhere to create a diversion then it stood to reason that whatever had gone wrong had to be somewhere else. Not too far away or our diversion would be pointless, but almost certainly far enough away that we'd not see it on this trip. Oh well! There was a war on! You never asked why: you just did as you were told.

The Captain checked our position a few times, then when we were still a few miles out he told me to throttle down and run her in shoreward at about half speed. He was busy with the night-glasses, scanning the blacked-out coastline, checking for something – and then he pointed at a higher shape in the line of black hills.

"That'll be the big headland," he said. "We want the second bay – about a mile to port. Take her in quietly to about half a mile off shore, then when I say we make a lot of noise, drop two charges and head along to the next bay to drop the other pair before we get the hell out of here."

Well, I took her in softly, just ticking over at a couple of knots. The Captain checked our position again with his glasses, then gave the nod. Nancy and Billy opened up with both Oerlikons and we dropped the first pair of charges. After a moment the Captain turned to me and pointed out to sea – but as I swung the wheel it felt like all hell broke loose around us.

Two beautiful explosions astern, with lovely great gouts of water shooting up in the moonlight – and two hideous great search-lights swinging onto us with cannon-fire following after them. I shoved the throttles to emergency boost – and couldn't remember anything else till I came to, lying in the scuppers, with my leg cracked up and my head in a mess.

If we'd gone in to create a diversion, then Jerry must have known something was happening – or else we'd got the wrong bay and had landed up right in the middle of the trouble we were supposed to be distracting them from. And now those two boats were just circling round us, keeping well back, simply watching.

　

After a while one of the boats came a bit closer in its circling, and I could see the big gun on her foredeck pointing at us as they went past. They circled round out of my sight, hidden by our canted-up deck, then came back into view again. I kept dead still, hoping they'd think I was a gonner already and that they needn't do anything like fire at me.

The boat carried on round the circuit, and after a couple of minutes disappeared behind the starboard bow again. As it did so, I realised I wasn't the only one still alive on board. Someone moved on that sloping deck: someone who couldn't move properly, but with both arms and one leg heaved themselves over to the ammunition locker and grabbed a fresh drum. They shoved it up to the Oerlikon and dropped it into the slot, then let off a great string of oaths as it fell back out again.

The Jerry boat came back into view then, and we both played dead once more while it carried on round.

As soon as it went out of view I tried to help. My leg hurt like hell and I couldn't ignore it, but I managed to shove myself up the slope of the deck, and between us we got the gun reloaded. But it wasn't Billy I was helping. It was Nancy.

"What the hell are you doing girl?" I wanted to know.

"Keep your bloody voice down!" she said, her voice cracking with pain. "Don't let them know we're here . . . . . Aaagh! Let them come in closer: let them drop their guard – then I'll get the lot of them, the bastards."

"What?" I almost shrieked at her. "Why? Let them think we're dead and they'll go away!"

"If the boat doesn't sink they'll sink her themselves," she hissed. "She's a gonner and so are we. They won't leave us here to escape. Look! There's only one gun that's got any sort of field of fire now, and that's the one I'm using. This is my only chance! I want to take as many of them with us as I can. I'll be OK once I'm strapped in – you get yourself into the life-raft and hope it floats clear when we go down."

"But I can't let you do that!" I said. "As soon as you open fire they'll kill you!"

"And?" Nancy asked. "Do you think I'm going to let that stop me? Like this? I'll not make it home this time. Aaargh! Bloody leg! Look – I'm dead anyway, so I'm taking them with me!"

It was only then that I realised why she had moved with one leg – half her other leg wasn't there. A length of rope was tied tightly around her thigh, but from the knee down the rest of her bloodstained trouser leg was just tatters of empty cloth.

"I'll be dead before the morning!" she said. "They've cut an artery of something and I can't stop the bleeding, so I'm a gonner no matter what. You get yourself out of it – I'm going to take them with me when I go."

I looked at her in horror, then at her leg again.

It's daft how little things stand out in moments like that. She'd tied off her rough tourniquet with a perfect bowline, and belayed the loose end with two classic half-hitches. Nancy knew she was dying, but even so she was still a proper sailor to the end.

　

The Jerry boat had slowed right down and was taking it's time coming around us that time, but I could see the prow just coming into sight so I slid back down the deck and by pure luck ended up half inside the life raft. I heaved my wounded leg inside, and was scrambling the rest of me in after it as Jerry started to play the searchlight across us. It swept slowly up from the half sunken stern, paused at my shattered wheel-house, came on across the foredeck, lit up my raft, and then just as it cleared the boat lit up the starboard Oerlikon.

It went on past Nancy and her gun to shine on the waves, then swung back again to shine on the gun once more. A shout of guttural German sounded across the water, and I realised the game was up. Nancy had swung the gun around in that moment, and someone must have realised it had moved.

More shouts sounded from the German deck, and their forrard gun swung slightly. Nancy waited no longer and opened fire first, hammering her shots into the gun crew then switching to the searchlight on the bridge. The light went out and screams sounded, but it was already too late.

There was a bang and moments later an explosion as a Jerry shell slammed into the water by our stern. That was the only shot they got off, as Nancy dosed their foredeck with another blast. Their gun remained silent, but their engines growled and the boat swung around. One oerlikon was of little use against an armoured hull, so they simply came straight at us and ran us down.

The whole boat fell apart under the impact, and I think that must have been what saved me, because when our two remaining depth charges went off right underneath the Jerry's keel I was shoved violently away from the carnage and vanished into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~

　

When I came too I was in a bed, in a hospital, with a German nurse looking at me. "Schtupid Inglander!" she muttered, as she took my pulse in a cold, professional way then marched off to make her report. The German staff made it plain they had no time for me, but they still looked after me as well as anyone could expect in an enemy hospital. They'd patched me up and splinted my broken my leg, and once I was stabilised got me mobile again – then passed me on to spend the rest of the war in a POW compound.

I was freed by a bunch of Yankees around eleven months later, and sent back by train to England a few days after that. The Navy took me in, looked at me, and spat me out. Intelligence listened to my story, told me not to be such a liar, and shoved me back to the Navy again.

No one wanted me. I didn't really want myself. I still woke up most nights with nightmares, screaming, sweating, thrashing about trying to load that ammunition drum into the Oerlikon for Nancy – and always failing.

The last thing I'd see before I woke up each time was that girl up there on the gun, a grim smile on her face, still firing at those bastards on the Jerry patrol boat as they ran us down.

She was a girl and a half, that one.

She never deserved an end like that.

I know she must be dead, but I still can't accept it.

That's why I kept on searching, searching, sailing all over the world, searching.

If by some miracle she'd come out of all that alive then she'd not be far from the sea.

She'd be near boats somewhere.

She'd have to be.

And while I've got breath in my body I'll keep on looking for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh!" Molly said when Dorothea finished reading her tale. "Oh! So now we know."

She wiped the tears away that flowed down her face, and picked up her wine-glass.

"Nancy!" she said, her voice choked with emotion as she raised her glass.

"Nancy!" everyone echoed, then they drank deep and fell silent.

"Is he still searching?" Peggy asked after a long pause.

"No – we brought him up here when he docked again and showed him the grave," Roger said. "He sat on the gravestone and cried his eyes out – but when he came away he thanked us. We'd told him of course when we were there, but I don't think he believed it till he came and saw for himself.

"He's given up the sea now you know: he's working for a boat-builders in Lymington. He's got a little motor-boat he picked up second-hand that he keeps down there, just for pottering around, when he can get the fuel. He's called her _Amazon II_ , and she flies a deaths-head when he's on board."

"And you say he was cautioned about lying at his debrief?" Commander Walker asked. "That no one would believe him?"

"I'm not really sure about that," Roger said. "He wasn't very clear on exactly what he meant: they may have only told him to keep it quiet rather than accused him of fantasising. But whatever they said, he reckoned he'd never told anyone the whole tale till he told us. That's why he called his mother in to listen as well, because even she didn't really know all that had happened."

"They're hardly likely to have wanted it publicised," John said. "The Captain would have been in trouble if he'd come back, even if nothing more."

"I think he knew that," Roger said. "He mentioned the names of the other crew, but he never said what the Captain's name was – nor even what his real rank was. Even though the man had been dead for years he was still protecting him."

"But surely, it wasn't his fault was it?" Brigit asked. "He was only obeying orders when they went across."

"I don't think that would have counted for much if Nancy had been hurt but the rest of them had come back," Ted said. "Even in times of war Officers are still expected to obey the rules. We all knew a few Wrens got killed, but they were still to be protected at all costs."

"I reckon Nancy must have hated that rule!" Sarah said. "I know I never knew her, but I’d think she must have longed to get involved properly."

"Mmmm. Nancy never saw herself as a woman to be protected," Peggy said. "She would never accept that a man was in any way better."

"And she proved it too, didn't she?" Mary asked very softly. "Proved it right to the end. Oh Molly – you must be so proud of her!"

"Proud?" Molly Blackett asked thoughtfully. "I don't know that that's quite the word I had in mind. I despaired of her sometimes, wanted to give her a good hiding sometimes . . . though yes, I suppose I was proud of her too sometimes . . . But oh! There's many a time I wished she could just be a little less wild, a little more sensible."

"A forlorn hope, mother dear!" Peggy said. "Not Nancy. She'd never live with herself if she wasn't being true to what she saw herself as being."

"I'd give anything to have her back with us again," Molly sighed. "But I know she's gone. At least I know how she went now, and yes – having heard that man's tale I think I probably am quite proud of her. She went out with a bang: she'd have wanted to do that."

Everyone had wanted to hear the tale Sarah and Roger had discovered and Dot had written up, but after they'd heard it there was a very quiet, sombre feel to their gathering. Once the account had been read on the Friday night they were all rather more silent and thoughtful than they'd anticipated, and on the Saturday none of them wanted to break that mood.

It was a day for quiet reflection, for thinking of Nancy again, remembering the wonderful times they'd spent together, the places they'd been and the adventures they'd shared. The grey skies and chilly wind didn't help to lift their mood either, but merely added to the unexpected effect. Nancy and quietness didn't go together somehow. Nancy and sombre thoughtfulness were not an expected pairing – but hearing the events of her last hours had that effect on them all.

Then on Easter Sunday the day dawned clear and bright: a slightly chilly breeze blew little clouds across a pale blue sky, and people found the joy of life could not be held back by thoughts of missing loved ones. They went as a group to the little church on the lake shore, and before going inside laid flowers on Nancy's grave.

Molly sniffed back a tear: Peggy realised again how big a hole her sister had left in her life. John stood in respectful silence, unconsciously adopting a military posture despite being in civvies. But Ted sat in his wheelchair and simply looked at the headstone, the familiar words taking on a whole new meaning to him.

Nancy (Ruth) Blackett

1916 – 1944

Died at sea, serving her country

Greater love has no man

than he lay down his life for his friends

　

The vicar spoke about the hope that Easter represents: the Christian belief in resurrection and eternal life, and the strong hope that Jesus conquered death through dying. As he came to the end of his talk he stumbled a little in his delivery, then paused to look out from his pulpit.

The assorted Walkers, Blackets and Callums represented a sizeable part of the congregation, and their combined presence could not be ignored.

"I hope none of my congregation will take offence," he said, looking particularly at Molly and Peggy, "But there are people here who gathered in sadness for a funeral in this church a few years ago. They are gathered again now, and though I do not know the purpose of that gathering I trust it is for happier reasons. And surely – that was the change that came over Jesus' followers that very first Easter morning, all those years ago.

"They gathered in sadness, as for a funeral: gathered to remember a dear friend and leader who had died a cruel death. But then they were told the unbelievable: told it, believed it, let that incredible meaning flow through them – and their mourning was turned to joy.

"That my friends is surely the meaning of Easter. Sorrow comes for a season, but joy comes in the morning. So be glad together! Be joyful! Remember that the way has been opened before you. And a Happy Easter to you all!"

"I do hope you did not mind my allusion to dear Nancy," the vicar said as he shook Molly's hand in the porch as they left. "You all looked so bereft as you sat there: I felt I couldn't let your presence go unmarked."

"We've been thinking a lot about Nancy," Peggy said, saving her mother the effort of finding the words. "We've just found out how she actually died, and it's had quite an effect on us all."

"Might I ask how it was she died?" the vicar asked. "Or is this not the time or place for such questions?"

"She died fighting," John said. "She died doing what she wanted to do: playing her part, pulling her weight. We miss her: of course we miss her. But, if you'll pardon my French, we're bloody proud of her!"

"Good!" the vicar said. "I look forward to hearing the full tale at some later date, but you carry on being proud of her. Nancy deserves that."

"Yes," Molly said. "You're right. She does. Thank you Vicar."

Molly paused on the path beside Nancy's grave as they left. "Good for you my girl!" Peggy heard her quietly murmur. "We're right proud of you . . . . . and Bob would have been too."


End file.
